Can You See The Light
by VigaHrolf
Summary: Can Marcus survive an ill fated trip into the depths of Firkraag's Dungeon or will the darkness swallow him whole?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimers - Copyright reserved to their respective bodies (BG2 and its characters to BioWare/Black Isle and WotC) Original characters I reserve copyright to.

Warning: Some disturbing content - be warned.

* * *

Marcus ran as fast as his legs would carry him down the ancient hallway, feet dodging around the chunks and bits of broken masonry that hunted for his feet. He kept tossing quick glances over his shoulder, looking for the pursuers behind him whom he thought he could already hear. They would come for him as well – in fact, they already hunted him, and he knew he couldn't fight them off.

As he entered a cross-passage, a sound off to the left brought him to a sudden stop. Twisting around, he tried to peer into the gloom for the sound's source. His right hand instinctively tightened around his sword hilt, seeking a better grip. The blood seeping down his right arm saturated his gauntlet and made the leather grips slippery, no matter how tightly he cranked his hand closed. Risking another precious second to look for a threat, he took off running again.

He could not get caught. He had to make it to the outside. He had to make it to the light.

He could hear the blood pumping in his ears as he ran, but barely above his mailed feet as they scraped and smashed against the stone floor. It was near impossible to hear his pursuers over the noise he was making, but that didn't keep him from desperately trying to stretch his senses, to pinpoint the pursuit his instincts screamed was drawing closer. If they caught him, they wouldn't let him go, even though they had his companions, his friends. After all, he was the one they wanted.

He could not get caught. He had to make it to the outside. To the light….

Rounding a bend in the corridor, he tripped, flying headlong into the black gloom. Mid-flight, his precarious grip on his sword slipped and he heard the magic hardened steel clatter and skitter away into the pitch-black distance. At the same time he heard the sickening crunch of steel and flesh colliding as he landed face down. His left knee found a jagged edge of stone and he felt the steel of his armor drive effortlessly into his knee. A new blossom of pain exploded behind his eyes as he tried to bend the damaged leg.

Cursing as he fought down the pain, he pushed himself up off the ground. Swearing profusely, he reached down and pulled free the bent piece of metal. He was no healer, but he could tell that it was badly damaged. _At least it's not broken. Then I would be doomed_, he thought. The incongruous absurdity of the thought made him laugh, but it was not a pleasant laugh. _Doomed? If my knee was broken? I think my fate is already sealed and simply awaits delivery._ Part of him just wanted to sit there and wait for his doom that hunted him in these ancient passageways, anxious to finish the work that had already begun long before he had ventured into the dark passages. However, his inner voice, that last bit of indomitable will, screamed at him to get up and keep moving, to marshal that last reserve of strength and keep moving.

He could not get caught. He had to make it to the outside. To the light…

Grabbing onto a strange stone outcropping, he levered himself up, trying to silence the cacophony of pain that sounded from his torn knee. As he regained his footing, he recognized what had tripped him. The cracked arm of a stone golem lay at his feet, unmoving. The arm from one that felled by their efforts just a few short hours before. He knew he was almost out. Almost out. Just a little bit farther and he would be free from this tomb, this charnel house of death and pain.

A moment of groping and he located his errant blade, resting against the shattered chest of another golem. Smiling a slight, half crazed smile, he lifted the weapon and looked into the darkness. They would be coming. He had to keep moving.

He could not get caught. He had to make it outside. To the light.

Again, he set off running, at least as much of a hobbled run as he could manage with one wrenched, bloody knee. Each time his left foot met the floor, a fresh jarring jet of agony shot through his leg and assailed his senses. Despite the pain, he continued to push the leg down, as each step he took brought him closer to freedom. Each step was closer to the outside. Closer to the light.

Lumbering at a half run, he crossed the ancient, crumbling lintel spanning the temple's entrance and staggered into the cavern by which they had entered. He strained his eyes and he could see dappled rays of sunlight beckoning him from the far end. The barest stirrings of hope, warmed by the inviting sunshine, pulled at him as he pushed harder and harder towards the opening to the outside. The pain pounded a perverse drumbeat as he marched onward to freedom. It was so close. He could see it. Freedom was at hand.

He could not get caught. Outside… Light…

Halfway across the cavern, Marcus staggered under a new piercing pain, this one from his shoulder. Looking over, he saw the shaft of an arrow sticking between two dented plates of his left pauldron. He stopped abruptly and stared, wondering how an arrow somehow found its way into his arm. He began to lift his sword up to inspect the offending protrusion when another glanced off his helmet with a resounding '_**clang**_'.

The ringing woke him from his daze to see a pack of hobgoblins firing arrows at him in an attempt to stop him. They were trying to stop his escape. They wanted to keep him from the precious light. He glared at them and brought his sword into a guard position and his shield up. Another arrow found refuge in the dented metal of the battered shield and heard another whiz by his head. Lips curled into a maddened snarl, Marcus charged, loosing a bloodcurdling scream at the band of filthy beasts. The craggy walls of the cavern amplified and distorted his rabid cry and echoed it back to him as twisted symphony of pure rage.

Despite the injuries to his legs, Marcus's mailed feet rapidly ate up the distance to his enemies. Still screaming, he fell on the first hob, bringing his long sword sharply down on the hob's ugly head before it could parry. Gray matter and an eyeball erupted from the wound as he quickly ripped the blade free, adding more red and gray splatter to the thick patina of gore that caked his armor. Two more charged with weapons high as he heard chanting begin. Bringing his shield up to block the downswing of the first, he turned and thrust his sword at the second, its point finding a seam in the hob's armor. With the strength borne of madness and despair, he twisted the hilts and wrenched the blade free, spinning the fatally wounded hobgoblin into his comrade, knocking them both to the stone floor in a bloody heap.

The low, guttural chanting stopped, and he felt magical energy dance across his tired muscles. But the spell could not take hold. Sword and mail dripping blood, he advanced purposefully on the shaman. He could see the panic swelling in the shaman's eyes as he fumbled helplessly for his weapon. He was too slow to defend himself as Marcus's calculated swing deprived the hob of his weapon arm, sending the limb spinning into the cavern wall. The blade's vicious backswing deprived the unfortunate hob of his head, the ugly thing following a similar arc and thudding damply into the opposite wall.

He howled as he felt a blade slide through his mail and slice across his ribs. Shaken, he staggered back, turning to face his hobgoblin attacker. By this one's armor and blade, it was clear that this was the hob leader.

"Master not like intruders. Gragh bring him you head!" he spat, slashing in again. Marcus barely lifted his shield up in time, and the hob deflected his weak counterstrike with insulting ease. Their blades clashed again, the steel resounding with an echoing crash. The hob captain began pushing his blade back, both blades edging dangerously close to his face.

As he saw the points draw even closer, he screamed desperately, "No! I will not go back! I need the light!" and slammed his shield into the hob.

The surge of violence knocked the hob off balance, and with a primal scream, Marcus pressed the attack. His first strike ripped through the leader's armor and tore a bloody hole in his enemy's stomach. Blood and entrails burst from the hole in flesh and muscle. Marcus's second blow sheared through muscle and bone, neatly severing one leg. He didn't even feel the hob's blade score on his hip as his blood roared with adrenaline and pain. Again and again and again he swung, scoring and spraying blood and bits of hob across the rough stone floor. It was a full minute before he fully realized the beast was dead and stopped. His labored breathing echoed softly throughout the cave as he resting on his blade. Glaring down at dismembered remains of the leader's body, he spat and in a raspy voice shouted, "**I.. WILL… HAVE… THE LIGHT**!!" The words resounded again and again between the cave's walls.

Marcus painfully hobbled over to the dead shaman and unceremoniously ripped the spellcaster's belt from the corpse. The two healing potions he found were not much, but they would ease a little of the pain. He swallowed them quickly, thinking he should look for more, but he couldn't wait for his pursuers to catch up to him. The battle with the hobgoblins already took up too much time. With a quick glance at the mangled bodies, he set off again, his stride a little easier. Each step took him closer to the light. With each step he was closer to freedom and farther from them and death.

He could not get caught. He had to make it to the outside. To the light.


	2. Chapter 2

He could not get caught. He had to make it to the outside. To the light.

After what seemed like an eternity, he reached the entrance, its balusters bathed in the warm light of the early afternoon sun. Battered and bloody, he wobbled out onto the cracked pavements and sucked in greedy breaths of fresh, free air. Two steps forward and his good leg buckled under his weight, sending him crashing face first into the unyielding stones. Exhausted, he lay prone on the weather worn pavement, unable to muster the strength to stand. He could feel the sun's warmth radiate through the caked carnage plastering his cheek. As he lay there, his torn knee began to scream anew. But he was outside. He was in the light. And for the moment, he was safe.

Lifting himself up on both his hands, he looked up at the sun just past the midpoint of its journey across a cloudless blue sky. He laughed hoarsely, "I made it! I made it!" His loud rasping voice contrasted sharply with the soft, sweet sounds of the deep forest. "The light! Thank Tempus, I made it. But, but I can't stay here.. just a little farther. I need to find safety."

His dented mail scraped against the stone as he pushed himself up and painfully regained his footing. Casting one last look over his shoulder, he staggered off and away from the dark pit behind him. Using his blade as a crutch, he limped away from the once level paving stones and into the nearby trees. He knew he couldn't stay too close to the ancient ruin as they would come looking for him, and he couldn't let them find him. He had come too far.

He followed an old trail through the woods, fighting exhaustion and pain until the sun hovered near the horizon. He came upon a small creek and looking up, he noted the quickly fading daylight and his own desperate need to stop. He could go no further. The last strength and endurance in his frame was spent. With a mighty effort, he tossed his pack to the other bank and plunged into the icy stream. Grime and blood swirled off and away in the swift current, momentarily changing the crystal water a sickly streaked shade of murky pink interspersed with bits of hobgoblin, orc, and other adversaries met in battle. The cold brought temporary relief as it numbed his injured knee and the buoyancy of the water relieved some of the pressure of his weight from it. Unbuckling the chinstrap to his helm, he pulled it free and tossed it onto the far shore. Not even waiting for it to land, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath then ducked his head under the water's surface. The stinging cold felt good against his face as the current sluiced away the caked refuse from his features. Feeling refreshed, he reemerged and rubbed away the last remnants of battle from his cheeks.

Pushing the sopping hair out of his face, he pulled himself onto the opposite bank and retrieved his pack. With cold numbed fingers, he set about tending his wounds. First he tended to the wounds on his legs, stripping away greaves and cruises, then wrapping pieces of a spare shirt round the wounds. Next was the arrow whose broken shaft still protruded from his shoulder. Undoing the buckles for his left pauldron, he tossed aside the dented metal and gripped the bloodstained shaft. Setting his teeth, he pulled, the head coming free followed by a gout of fresh blood. A moan escaped his lips as he stuffed a torn piece of sleeve into the wound and held it in place with a quick wrap of cotton.

Using the last of his strength, he crawled over to a nearby oak tree where he was greeted by a soft thick cushion of moss. Tempted as he was to nestle into nature's blanket, he rolled himself into a sitting position with his back against the sturdy tree to keep himself upright. As he settled into the welcoming turf, his mind was finally free to begin replaying the last few hours.

The cautious turn into the seemingly innocuous room. The sudden rustling of movement, the shrill, orchestrated screaming, the sound of steel on steel. The shouted orders as the six of them valiantly tried to defend themselves. The sound of magic whirling and screaming through the air as they tried to drive their assailants back. Many fell before steel and sorcery, but they kept coming -- too many to stop, too many to fight off. The pain ripping into his flesh, the panic rising in his throat as he knew the battle was lost. The screams of pain of horror as they were being overwhelmed. Then, his order to retreat. And his sole flight. His escape from the orgy of carnage.

Covering his face with his hands, the big blonde warrior began to sob as the memories flooded his mind. The blood_. The blood everywhere. Too many. Please make it stop! Please!_ All of his friends, all of his companions -- they were lost. Minsc… Anomen… Yoshimo… Nalia... Even sweet Aerie. Oh gods.. sweet Aerie…

Mercifully, exhaustion cut short his recollections and swallowed into the dreamless sleep of the mind and bone weary.

It was that deep sleep that was interrupted by the sound of gentle footfalls. Instincts borne of the hard life of the road were hard to blunt, despite how tired he was. His eyes snapped opened as his hand grasped for his sword. Night had fallen, but a full moon illuminated the wood in a soft velvet glow. Again, he pushed himself upright, clenching his teeth as his knee and shoulder screamed in rebellion. Sleep had rendered both stiff and near useless. Swallowing hard, he readied himself to meet whomever, or whatever, had made the rustling noise on the forest floor.

Blade held at the ready, he looked around for the source of the sound. It could be anything, he told himself. Bandits, hunters, even that fallen noble. After a moment's scanning of the perimeter, he caught sight of a figure standing atop a rock outcropping, back lit by the moon. The backlight of the moon cast an eerie corona around the figure, eclipsing the creature's face. From the gentle curves of the body, he could tell it was a female. He slowly limped toward the figure, his eyes desperately trying to identify her as friend or foe. As he drew nearer, recognition set in, and a cold sweat of anxiety began to dampen his back.

"Aerie?" Marcus asked in a cracked voice.

"Yes, Marcus, it is me." The elf girl replied sibilantly. She leapt from the stone in a flutter of blonde hair and tattered yellow robes that barely covered her body, landing catlike on the soft earth. Even at this close range, her face was still deeply shadowed.

"But, but you are… the room.." His mind told him this was wrong. She could not be standing before him, there were too many of them.

Her face remained cloaked in shadow as Aerie sashayed closer to him, moving with a gentle sway of her hips the tired warrior had never witnessed before from the young elf girl. "No Marcus," she began in a cooing, melodious tone. "It is me, love. I made it out, just a little bit behind you. And I came to look for you… Do not worry love. It is alright now."

Disbelief roared to the surface of Marcus's mind. The ancient ruin had been a death trap, there had been too many of them. "But how? How did you survive? We were overrun, there were too many of them..."

She continued slowly advancing on him. "We fell back, love. Like you ordered," she explained. It was her and it was her voice, but there was something different about it, a hypnotic quality that insidiously snared his attention and lulled his senses. "You drew them off and we holed up in an alcove nearby. You saved us, Marcus. And when we were ready, we came out looking for you - and I knew we would find you. To make you part of us again." She briefly paused her advance and raising a hand to her face, she continued, "Ohhh… oh my love… Look how hurt you are... Let me tend to your wounds my love. Let me clean them of that blood."

She drew closer, tantalizing views of moon-dappled flesh visible through the gaping rips and tears in her robes teasing his senses. He lowered his sword, his heart rejoicing at this miracle before him. His blood boiled at the sight of Aerie's naked flesh in the moonlight. She was now mere inches from him, her mesmeric presence inflaming his passion like moonflame. She reached out to stroke his cheek with the back of her hand. "Do not worry Marcus… Once I am done, we will be together forever," she said, her voice suddenly heavy and deeper. A consuming rush of desire for this slight, beautiful elf overwhelmed him.

He inhaled sharply, feeling her breath on him. She stepped closer when suddenly he realized he had not felt her breath at all. He couldn't feel her breath. The instincts that had been screaming of danger burst free from moonlight's spell, and involuntarily, he took a lurching step back, just out of reach of her reach.

A look of pain and hurt crossed her pale face as she watched him retreat. Her full lips formed into a perfect pouty bow. "My love…," she whispered. "Why do you recoil? I am here to help you, to aid with what pains you. Do you not trust me?"

Marcus raised his sword and stuttering in fear and shock at the truth, he spat at her, "B…b..but you're dead! You are one of them now!"

An alien, feral smile formed on Aerie's innocent, child-like face. She swept her hands down, pushing away the ribboned remnants of her robe. "I am not dead my love. I have simply… transcended to a higher state. I am now a stronger, more powerful, more beautiful being." She slowly moved her hands over her naked body as she spoke. "You always told me how I need to be strong, to find my inner strength." She laughed lightly. "I have that now. I will always be powerful and beautiful." She drew closer to the retreating warrior, her tongue sliding across gleaming white teeth as her hands sensuously caressed her small round breasts. "No more scars." The blonde slowly turned in the moonlight, showing him her perfectly smooth back, unblemished by scars. Turning back to him, she smiled and slowly shook her head side to side. "No more pain, and all the power in the world. It is no curse, my love. It is a gift, a gift I want to share with you, like my body. I have seen how you look at me, how you are looking at me know. I know you want me. I know what you want." She slid her hand down her flat stomach to the top of her thigh. "Join me, my love. And all of this and more will be yours."

She stepped over the rags of her robe and moved seductively closer to him as she opened her blood red lips for a final mortal kiss. Tears began to stream down his face as he staggered back against his tree. His hands trembled as she drew even closer. "It will only sting for a moment, my love," she whispered, weaving her spell. "Then we will be together forever, throughout all of eternity." Moonlight glinted from her exposed fangs as she prepared to make good on her promise.

"**NO!!!**" His soul-rending cry escaped his lips and ripped through the night hush of the deep woods. He reared back and drove his sword in between Aerie's breasts up to the hilts. The force of the thrust pulled the blade from his hands as Aerie's body collapsed to the forest floor. Looking at what he done, he shuddered uncontrollably.

Racked by the resonating horror of his action, Marcus doubled over, sobbing and breathing heavily. Soul sick, he dry heaved and then collapsed to his knees. His heart was so hurt and so wounded, he did not even feel the pain from his wrecked knee.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk… You know, Marcus, that is no way for a gentleman of breeding to treat a lady," sounded a clipped voice to his left. Slightly turning his head, he saw the form of Anomen appear from behind a stand of dense scrub. His armor was in total disarray, breastplate rent and his gorget torn free. One hand rested lightly on the Flail of Ages as he smiled his pompous little smile of condescension. Marcus could not see his eyes, but he already knew they were lifeless, like Aerie's had been. Anomen continued his arrogant admonishments. "You know, I don't think she is going to appreciate your little show of affection all that much." Anomen's face fell back into shadow, but Marcus knew he was smirking as he spoke.

Another voice sounded from behind Marcus. "Aye, she made you a very kind offer, friend Marcus. And you responded her quite badly. I would not be surprised if she were, as you say.. 'quite put out'?" He whirled to face the added voice, seeing Yoshimo twirling his katana. He looked in worse shape than Anomen, his armor and tunic totally gone. Fresh scar lines mapped his naked chest.

Two more figures approached from either side, flanking Aerie's still body on the ground. The red haired woman spoke first, her natural haughtiness exaggerated in her tone. "Typical," she sniffed. "A woman shows some sign of sexual liberation and what does a man do? Smash her down to her 'rightful' place. I don't know why I bothered with reforming this sick and twisted society of yours. Fah... The way you mortals act towards each other... And then, you have the gall to call **US** monsters?"

"Indeed they do Nalia, indeed they do," replied Anomen, nodding in understanding.

Filled with shocked disbelief, Marcus looked at his once-dead comrades, now literally risen as undead. He felt the black fist of despair close around his heart. By the gods, they had found him. And there was no light to save him from certain death now. He looked from moonlit face to moonlit face, looking for some ray of hope, some shred of mercy. He choked, "I.. I am sorry I left you behind. I..I did not mean to… there were just too many…" His voice trailed off to a hoarse whisper.

"Minsc does not think that you have to apologize for abandoning us. We were given a great gift, although Minsc will find it hard to continue without his Boo. Poor Boo… he did not come back." The big Rashemani wiped at his face, a brief look of sadness on his now alien face. Shaking his head he finished, "Although, Minsc is sure you will apologize for hurting his witch."

Minsc leaned over and effortlessly pulled Aerie back to her feet. Aerie looked down at the blade still embedded in her chest much as a lady of high birth would look at an offending stain on her bodice. "Oh.. fiddlesticks!" she cursed, stamping a foot on the ground. Glaring at Marcus, she screamed shrilly, "Do you know how long this is going to take to MEND? I'm going to have this huge, unsightly hole between my beautiful breasts for days! Now tell me lover, just how seductive is that?!!"

Nalia glanced over and cocked her head to one side, "Aerie, don't worry about it too much. Just wear a high-necked robe for a few days. You must have one in your pack. And, its not like you were much for the daring décolletage look before you transcended, you know."

Aerie turned to Nalia, giving Marcus a good view of the majority of his sword's blade protruding from her back. The moonlight reflected the length of it. There was no blood, no tissue. "Of course, Nalia, I know you are right," she sighed. Its just those things are SO stifling." Nalia nodded in sympathetic understanding, lightly tugging at the remains of her high necked bodice. The three 'men' simply chuckled.

Marcus was not idle during this exchange. Slowly, he slid his hand to his side and began to ease his short blade from its scabbard. Before the short sword was completely free, Aerie whirled back to face him, her eyes a bright glowing red. "But, as for you lover," she growled, "I don't think I'm going to be so nice. I really don't think I want to be with a man who goes and desecrates my beautiful body by sticking a sword into my chest when I'm trying to help him."

She turned to Minsc, never breaking her eye contact with Marcus. "If you would be so kind, my Minsc, and remove this offending piece of useless steel. I fear my arms are not long enough to pull it free without doing further damage." Minsc nodded and pulled the sword free, handing it to her. She gingerly tossed it over her shoulder into the thicket of scrub. Grinning wickedly, she looked over at Nalia to comment, "Of course, if he had offered to apply it in a more satisfying manner elsewhere, I might have been inclined to be a bit more magnanimous. And had he applied it expertly, and to my greater satisfaction, I could have been almost…well… merciful."

The woods filled with dark and raucous laughter from the group. Everyone was laughing but Marcus. Swatting Aerie playfully on the arm, Nalia replied, "You are simply wicked, my dear. Positively wicked!"

Half turning to face Nalia, Aerie seductively traced one pale finger down Nalia's jaw line, a predatory grin on her face. "I know. Isn't it simply delicious?"

Laughing lightly, she turned to Marcus and waggled an accusatory finger at him. "Now as to you, _**dear**_ Marcus, all of this talking has stirred more than one of my appetites. Enough chatter. I think it is time for dinner."

Sword free, Marcus clutched it to his chest as pressed his back up against the old oak. "No! You will not take me!" he shouted. "I will not be one of you!"

Anomen threw back his head and laughed, "And you, with all your wounds, are going to stop the five of us how? Just how will you do this, Marcus? I simply must know." His disdainful laugh was echoed by the others.

The laughter abated as the five drew in, not even bothering with drawing their own weapons. Marcus looked from Anomen's sneer, to Aerie's angry, curled lip, to the vacuous, almost sad look on Minsc's face. He knew there was no chance of mercy, there never had been. And, there was no chance of escape. He could not fight them, and he could not run. He looking down at the glimmering blade he held clenched to his chest. There was only one way left.

Tears welled in his eyes. "Imoen, please forgive me," he said softly.

He looked up at the shells of his former companions, their smiles mocking him. Pointing his short sword at them in defiance, he cursed at them. "I will see all of you in the Abyss!!"

With all his remaining strength, he turned the blade towards him and drove the point deep into his chest. His body shuddered and jerked as indescribable pain flooded through him. He gasped as hot blood filled his lungs, slowly drowning him. The pain surged one last time as his legs numbed and he sagged onto the blade. The deafening ringing in his ears blocked out the sounds of the group's confusion. His vision blurred and then faded to pure white. The last mortal thought that raced through his mind was, _**The light! The light! I am saved!!**_

The five stood in shock at what they had just witnessed. They hadn't expected this. But what happened next surprised them even more. Before their eyes, their dinner began to disintegrate, the flesh seeming to blow away like dry leaves in a late autumn storm. In seconds, all that was left of their dinner was an empty suit of badly damaged armor impaled by a short sword driven into a tree. Aerie stepped over to inspect the empty remains. Glaring at the empty mail, she stomped her foot and cursed, "Oh… phooey!! Now where are we supposed to find dinner!!" She looked at the others. "Anyone have any ideas?"

Elsewhere, a mage looked up from his journal and stared out to from his tower room to the east across the ocean and to the mainland. Gently blowing on the damp ink until it dried, he then closed the book and set down his quill. He arose from his chair and strode to the open window. Crossing his arms over his leather bound chest, he watched in silence Then he spoke in his dead voice, "Unfortunate. I thought he was stronger than this. No matter, I still have his sister." Closing the window with a gesture, he turned and walked away.


End file.
